A Man They Don't Fully Understand
by x3 Samantha
Summary: 19 year old Callie Jamison, journalism student at the University of Gotham and copy editor at the Gotham Globe, scores a once in a life time interview with The Joker. Now all she has to do is survive long enough for it to happen in her life time...
1. Falling

Chapter 1: Falling

"Come on."

"No."

"Urgh, Dr. P… –"

"I said no." The petite red-head rolled her eyes from her place on top of his desk.

"You're being unreasonable." The young doctor scoffed, not looking up from his file.

"He's a madman Calliope." Callie scrunched up her nose at the use of her first name in its full form. She hopped off the doctor's desk, black heels clacking off the floor as she does.

"Just a peek?" She took off her bright blue trench coat and hung it on the door next to his khaki one. It clashed horribly with the banal décor of the psychologist's office she was in.

"No Callie."

"Come on Dr. P., all I want is just a quick look at him," she whined, reaching up to reposition the dark blue knit cap on her head. "Just let me see his face without all the crap on it and I'll do nothing but file all day." Dr. Palladino looked up, contemplating what all that filing would actually mean to him.

"No," he decided, shaking his head. "You're mother would have me taken out back and shot for exposing you to his breathing space."

"Who is telling her?" Callie asked, rewrapping her navy blue and white muslin scarf around her neck. Dave Palladino rolled his eyes.

"It's seventy degrees in here, take off the scarf." Callie shook her head.

"It looks cute." Dave scoffed, muttering something about teenage fads that Callie decided to ignore.

"Seriously, an inmate comes in here and yanks that and you're dead before you can scream." Callie sighed and unwrapped the scarf again.

"Stop avoiding the real issue here. I want to see him." Dr. Palladino went back to his file as Callie hung her scarf up under her coat.

"Who?" Callie glared at the dark haired man playing dumb with her.

"You know who."

"Voldemort?" Callie gave him a withering stare he chose not to notice. "I already told you, he's too dangerous." The teen let out an exasperated sigh.

"And I told you, I just want to look at him, I don't want to touch him." She crossed her arms over her chest, instantly moving them back away from their new position after feeling cool metal burn her skin. She rolled her eyes at her own anxiety before tucking the silver compass dangling from the chain around her neck back into the breast of her cut out navy and baby blue dress.

Dave started walking out of the office, his head still in his file; Callie followed like a puppy looking for scraps. "And I said –" Dave stopped talking when they got out into the hallway and finally looked up from his file. Callie turned her attention to a scream coming from the opposite end of the hallway.

"You said what?" Callie asked, turning back to the good doctor who, she hadn't noticed until she was about smack into his back, had stopped dead in his tracks. Callie quickly sidestepped Dr. Palladino to avoid hitting him. Unfortunately, in her haste to avoid knocking into him, her heels scuffed on the ancient asylum's linoleum floor, causing her to fall forward. Callie gasped and squeezed her eyes shut quick, bracing herself to hit the floor. But the cold pain of plaster against her face never came.

Callie's bright blue eyes opened at the feel of warm, masculine hands hugging her cold arms just above the elbows. Her eyes trailed up her savior's form, slowly taking in his white hospital scrubs, sharp Adam's apple tearing at his throat, the deep scars (so painful looking she almost flinched) that ran up to his temples, the curly blonde hair holding only the faintest hint of green now, and finally up to the intensely dark eyes that just watched her. Seconds that felt like eons to the awkward group assembled passed before Callie righted herself on her feet. Callie and her scarred savior stood staring intently at each other, her arms in his hands, for a full minute before he started laughing.

The shrill sound broke everyone out of their trance. Callie jerked her arms out of his hands and jumped back into the chest of a waiting Doctor Palladino as two burly guards she hadn't noticed before grabbed hold of the maniacally laughing man and pushed him past the doctor and the teenage girl. The pair could still hear laughing when Dave spoke, "I said "no."' He sighed before continuing up the hall with his file.

Callie stood rooted to the spot she'd set herself in, staring at the place on the floor where her face should have hit, replaying in her mind exactly what had just happened, and listening to the laughter long after she couldn't hear it.

* * *

"It's okay Callie," a tall red-headed man soothed lightly, gripping the arms of a tiny eighteen-month old girl. Callie's fingers were digging tightly into the cushion of the hideous pus green sofa. "I'll catch you." The man's smile radiated such warmth that she couldn't help but return it as she let go of the couch and took a large step forward, towards him. Her knee gave out when her foot hit the floor and she collapsed into the arms of the red-headed man. His smile never faded. "I'll always catch you Callie."


	2. Curiosity

Chapter 2: Curiosity

Callie's eyes barely blinked as they hungrily read the file in front of her. She hadn't meant to read it; it was just lying there on Dave's desk when she came in. And he had never _really_ minded before… Callie pulled on the drawstring of her hood guiltily. She was so distracted by the name on the file that she hadn't even thought to take her coat off. She just… wanted to learn more about him, that's all. She was curious. She was always curious. Her curiosity hadn't gotten her into trouble so far. So far being the key phrase.

Callie shook her head, physically brushing off the negative thoughts in her head as she read "The Joker's" file. Type A sociopath, 'Knew that,' she thought. Homicidal maniac, 'Duh.' Origins: Unknown. Family history: Unavailable. Real name: Not given. Callie frowned. 'Why didn't they just sedate him and trick him into talking? Look him up with records, finger-prints, DNA samples? Men don't just appear out of nowhere.' Her thoughts were broken off by the sound of the office door handle being turned.

Callie scrambled to her feet, unbuttoned her coat and shoved it off her and onto the back of the chair, and turned around to an open drawer on one of Dave's file cabinets before the door opened. "Hey Dr. P.," she called as easily as she could over her shoulder. "I was just getting started on the filing you asked me to do." She turned around now to smile at the doctor, but was rooted to her spot with shock and fear at what she _did_ see. 'Not Dr. P.' A sloth-like version of the man who had prevented her from a broken nose stood hand-cuffed and drooling in front of her. Callie's eyes widened with fear before the guard behind him spoke.

"Hey Callie, sorry we're early today. This one," the old guard Callie knew as Will pointed at the Joker, "got a little antsy." Callie smiled at the aging man, silently cursing herself for her lack of awareness when her scarred friend was around.

"That's fine Will, Dave'll be back in a minute and I was just headed to fourth floor anyway." She said, slinging her blue and white striped bag over her shoulder. Will's face fell urgently as he let go of the heavily sedated criminal in front of him.

"Hey Callie, would you mind watching him for a minute before you go? I have to take a leak," he smiled embarrassedly. "The ol' machine ain't what it used to be." He laughed heartily, pounding his gut for emphasis. Callie smiled sympathetically, eyeing the madman nervously. "Oh don't worry about him," Will assured her, seeing her look. "He'll be like that for another twenty minutes at least. The most dangerous thing about him right now is his drool." Will laughed again and Callie couldn't help but smile as she put her bag back down, pulling up a cream sleeve of her thin dress it had taken down with it.

"Sure, go ahead." Will barely had time to yell out a thank you as he rushed out the door. Callie's smile faded as her gaze moved over to the Joker, who, oddly, seemed more present now that Will was gone. He spoke as soon as she made eye contact.

"Whats it stand for?" Callie's eyes widened again. His speech was not the slurred ramblings of the sedated man he should have been.

"You're supposed to be tranquilized."

"Well I'm not." He stated, over enunciating the "T." "What does it stand for?" He began to walk closer to her, no longer making eye contact, his head bending every which way as he inspected her carefully.

"What does what stand for?" She asked, eyebrows now furrowed in confusion. His eyes didn't glance up from her legs, the body parts he was currently leering at. Callie took a slow step backwards as he continued to walk closer to her.

"Callie," he said simply. "What does Callie stand for?"

Callie's eyebrows raised in surprise, answering instinctively, "Calliope."

"Calliope what?" His eyes were travelling north now. She would have rolled her eyes in any other situation. 'Typical male.'

"Jamison." That caught his attention.

"Like Lilly Jamison?" Callie nodded but didn't have enough time to get her answer out before the door opened again. Callie snapped out of her complacent trance and jumped away from the Joker, snatching her bag, and walking swiftly toward the door after looking up to see who had entered.

"Sorry Dr. P., gotta go!" And with that, she ran out of the room, leaving a thoroughly confused Dr. Palladino. He glanced back out the door before looking back in at his deformed patient.

"Where's Will?"

"He had to take a wiz." The Joker said calmly, sitting down in the chair opposite the one Dave was now moving toward. The doctor nodded, acknowledging the answer.

"And how are you today?" He asked, sitting down and organizing papers for their session. The Joker ignored his question.

"Is she your whore?" He asked interestedly. Dr. Palladino nearly spit out his coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if she was your whore. I didn't want to assume from the way you looked at her, so I asked." He enunciated the last word very clearly. Dave shook his head silently, having succumbed to a stunned loss of words. "Hmm," the taller, lighter-haired man mused." You're right; she's far too innocent to be properly..." He trailed off, giving the doctor a "You know what I mean," look. "Handled." He smirked as Dave's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. "Though I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for her to learn her place. And it is almost a crime that a woman with those gams doesn't know how to use them." The Joker sounded appalled. "Do you think they would feel better wrapped around my waist," he balled his fists up at the word, "or around my neck whi—" The older doctor cut off his patient's conversational tone.

"Enough! We are not talking about Callie!" The Joker's mouth curved up into a cruel smile.

"Who was saying anything about Callie? I don't remember mentioning names." Dave sat shock still before attempting to stutter out a response. It was the patient's turn to cut off his doctor. "So you do like her!" The Joker's smile quickly turned into an admonishing frown. "Now that doesn't seem very ethical Doc. How old is she?!" He didn't give the doctor any time to answer. "Have you had her Doc? You can tell me, we're both guys here. Tell me, is she as tight as I think she is?" The scarred man slouched in his seat and closed his eyes, giving a contented sigh as he visualized himself inside the much younger girl. The Joker opened his eyes with a sheepish grin. "You'll have to forgive me Doc. We don't get much action inside these padded walls." He motioned his hands to walls of Dave's office. "So it gets more and more difficult to suppress the um…" He pretended to search for the word. "Urges." The Joker licked his lips slowly.

Dr. Palladino paused for a moment to collect himself before asking, "So you do have sexual urges?" The Joker looked at the psychologist as though he were stupid.

"What red-blooded male doesn't?"

"There are some people," the doctor explained, "who are asexual." The patient raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well thankfully I don't suffer that delusion." Dave didn't press the issue.

"You'll forgive me, I hope, for thinking that, it's just that you have no sex crimes on record…"

"I don't need to."

"…there are no women mentioned in any of your extensive psycho-analysis's…"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"…and you don't hire female henchmen."

"There is currently a drought of them in that market. Aside from that, women are too... emotional," he waved his fingers in dislike at the word, "for the job." Dr. Palladino nodded.

"But you do get those urges."

"Of course. And the urges your Callie invokes…" he trailed off in a sigh, turning back to look at the door as though she might reappear. He turned back around when she didn't and shook his head. Dave decided to ignore his comment about Callie.

"So which is stronger? The urge to kill or the urge to have sex?" The Joker answered immediately.

"Kill." The doctor nodded.

"So what if you saw a woman and had both urges toward her?" The patient shrugged, completely unfazed.

"That's simple. One of two things." He explained, "One: She refuses my advances and I slit her throat. Two: I charm her into my bed and slit her throat after I come." Dave's eyes widened.

"Of course. What happens if she refuses your advances and you don't have the urge to kill her?"

"I get the urge." The Joker's eyes darkened, enraged at the prospect. Dr. Palladino merely nodded, jotting down notes.

"But you won't rape. Why?" The inmate considered this question briefly before answering.

"Do you know why I prefer to use a knife to kill people? I'm curious as to what they're going to say when they think they're going to die. Intense pain has a way of getting people to vocalize what they're thinking." He paused, licking his lips. "Intense pleasure has the same effects." Dave cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by The Joker's response. He looked down at his notes, not having the confidence to look his patient in the eyes as he asked his next question.

"And what kind of urges does Callie invoke?" The Joker grinned maliciously.

"I'd like to pin her down and pound her until the muscles in her legs won't work, I'd like to ravage her entire body until she's screaming and begging me to stop, I want to screw her so well that she'll never be able to get rid of my face from her mind," he paused to let his psychologist digest that information. "And that's it."

* * *

"God! Fuck! Please! Harder!" The teenager rolled his eyes at the moaning prostitute writhing beneath him. He did as he was asked and moved his hips harder against her's. He came soon after she did, pulling out of her roughly with disgust. The blonde boy took a moment to catch his breath before turning back to the whore. He vaguely noticed that she wasn't as pretty now, with her brown locks plastered to her face and make-up smeared from sweat. "See anything you like?" The hooker was perturbed by the way he looked at her. The scarred boy broke into a wide smile, reaching his hand off the bed and into his pants for something she couldn't see.

"I'm curious…" He trailed off and the woman rolled her eyes. She assumed he had wanted to try another position.

"Another time is going to cost you extra." The young man scoffed in disgust before reaching up the hand with the knife from his pocket and cleanly slicing the whore's throat. His smile returned at her futile attempts to hold her blood in her throat with her hands. Her face twisted in pain; a dark mirror of the face she had made during her orgasm. She attempted to scream for help against the river of blood now pouring from her mouth.

The boy just laughed.

I would like to thank my reviewers! You are all very kind to leave motivation for me! And to the people who are watching and/or favorited my story but didn't review: thank you guys much for taking an interest! I would love to know what you think, even if it's a quick little thing so please try to leave some love for me!

Oh! And if I may make a reccomendation! Anything that Savannah writes is amazing, so please go read it and leave her reviews as well so that she'll keep writing and I can read more from her! (It's purely selfish, I'm friggin' hooked on her work. Go read it an find out why!) She's written two amazing one-shots so far; "Pretty Woman" and "A Beautiful Message."


	3. Smile

Chapter 3: Smile

Callie would have rather been anywhere else right then. She was tired, she had a report to write for her journalism class, and she had just spent the whole day in the basement of the "Gotham Globe," building. The very last place she wanted to be was at an asylum's company party. Callie sighed taking a sip from the clear carbonated beverage in her glass and resting her chin in her palm.

Honestly, where she would have liked to have been was back in the newspaper's basement doing more research. However, not for her paper, which was due in fifteen and a half hours. She groaned and shifted in her chair at the mental reminder. No, she wanted to research more about her scarred friend. Callie had come across a very interesting obituary in her research on the Gulf War. At first Callie had rolled her eyes at her topic for her "War Time Reporting," paper, thinking for sure that she had drawn the short straw when it came to subjects. Now, however, she had a very captivating reason to keep pursuing the subject.

Callie repeated the articles words in her mind, having memorized it from reading it so many times. 'Captain John Napier – 43. Army Captain John Napier of Gotham City died in the line of duty in Iraq on Saturday, June 24th, 1989. Napier was forty-three and is survived by his wife Mary (39), his son Jack (10), and his daughter Jessica (6). A memorial service will be held at Kauffman's funeral home on Thursday, June 29th, 1989.'

It wasn't the obituary that caught Callie's attention as it was the picture that went along with it: A beautiful, smiling family of four sitting in the park; the daughter on the mother's lap and the boys with their arms around each other. The children had their mother's eyes, but the boy's smile was distinctly his father's. And their smile was the exact same smile as the Clown Prince of Gotham's. Callie sighed once more, looking at the clock again. It read 10:45 pm. She took another sip of her sprite when Dave sat down across from her. He mimicked her frown. "Why so glum Cal?" Callie gave a half-hearted shrug.

"I'm tired, and I have a report due in fifteen hours and thirteen minutes, and I'd rather not be sitting here in a cocktail dress wasting my time." Dave raised an eyebrow.

"So why are you still here?" Callie picked at the hem of her ribbed, maroon dress.

"'Cause mom asked me to be here."

"I think she'll understand." Dave took a sip from his champagne glass. Callie adjusted a cap sleeve before shrugging again. Dave sighed and eyed the teenager slowly. "Tell ya what? You go home and do your homework and I'll take care of your mother." She smiled lightly.

"You don't have to do that Dr. P." Dave held up both hands.

"No, no. I insist. Go," Callie's smile broadened.

"Well in that case, I'll need your keys. I left my stuff in your office." Dave pulled his key ring out of his pants pocket and threw it to the girl sitting across from him. Callie stood up, gave him a parting wave and walked out of the asylum's cafeteria. Her heels clacked up the linoleum steps before finally reaching their destination; the thirteenth floor. Home of the criminally deranged.

Callie walked silently down the hallway, the image of the army family ever present in her mind when she heard the laughing. She stood rooted in her spot, keys in hand. 'The keys,' she remembered them suddenly. 'Dave's keys. Keys to his patient's rooms…' Callie walked toward the laugh, her mind already made up. After a few feet she stopped in front of a door. She could see a flash of green/blonde hair in the corner of the room from the window. 'Room 1379.' Callie quickly searched through all of Dave's keys for _his._ As soon as she found it she shoved it in the lock and clicked it open, ignoring the voice in the back of her mind telling her how stupid this idea was. She quickly slipped into the room, locking the door behind her. Callie slowly turned around, leaning her back against the door and facing a very confused criminal.

The Joker raised an eyebrow and smiled, walking towards her slowly. "Miss Jamison! Welcome to my humble abode." He spread his arms out wide, showing off his stark white room. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Callie cocked her head to the side, seeing more and more of the boy in the photograph the longer she looked at him. The scarred man's smile faltered as the time between his question and her answer became longer and longer. She spoke suddenly but softly.

"I want to know more about you." His grin came back suddenly.

"Well I'm an open book!" He stopped right in front of her, much closer than she normally would have liked, though she didn't mind it now. "What would you like to know?" Callie stared right into his smile, looking past the scars before looking right up into his eyes. Mary Napier's eyes. The Joker raised an eyebrow. "The scars?" His smile turned evil, although still reminiscent of John Napier's. "Do you want to know how I got these scars?" His tone was playful but Callie wasn't in the mood for games. She shook her head.

"Everything," she said, answering his first question, "I want to know everything." The mental patient faltered from his lie.

"Well beautiful, that's an awful long story to tell." Callie didn't care, she was already captivated.

"I've got time." He raised an eyebrow.

"It's eleven o'clock on a school night." His admonishing tone snapped her out of her trance. She vaguely noticed that there was no clock in his cell.

"Another time then?" She asked hopefully. The object of her curiosity smirked at her.

"I'll see if I have some free time." Callie took his answer to mean "Yes."

She nodded, "Good. So I'll see you soon?" He grinned in agreement.

"It's a date." She nodded again as he backed away from her. As soon as he was a safe enough distance away Callie unlocked his door. She paused for a moment when the door was open.

"Jack," she didn't turn around to watch him freeze. "You have your father's smile."

"What's the matter kid?" A tall red-headed man nudged a seven-year old Callie with his shoulder. "Why so serious?" The second-grader sighed, casting her line out over the dock. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Nothin'," was her reply.

"Then why aren't you smiling? You know I love your smile kiddo."

Callie grumbled, "Well not everyone does." The man set his fishing pole down and grabbed the child by her shoulders, turning her to face him.

"Hey kid, look at me. What happened?" He asked gently.

Callie sighed, "Nothing dad ok? It's just this girl at school, Lindsey, who thinks she's so perfect and she said I had a stupid smile." Her frown became more pronounced as she played with the frayed ends of her baseball cap. Callie's father smiled wide at her.

"Calliope," he said very seriously, drawing her attention back to his eyes. "If there is one thing I ever teach you it should be that no one is perfect." He let his smile take over his whole face. "Except for when they smile." The little girl couldn't hold back when her lips curled all the way up her cheeks, reaching all the way to her clear blue eyes.


	4. Feeling

Chapter 4: Feeling

Jack Napier sat in Arkham Asylum's thirteenth floor common room waiting for everything and nothing all at once. It had been five excruciating days since his "pretty muse," as her name prophesized for her. He thought it fit her perfectly. He was restless. How could she have known anything about him? With the exception of his criminal record and multiple psychiatric evaluations he had destroyed everything ever written about himself. Birth records, school transcripts, social security information; everything was destroyed! He technically didn't exist outside of Arkham.

But she knew his name and, apparently, his father. The inmate snorted from his place on a wide window sill. He barely knew his father, it was impossible that she knew him. And yet, despite the fact that she probably wasn't even born when John Napier died, she knew, at least, how he smiled. The Joker's entire face turned down in an all-consuming frown. He could barely remember how his father smiled. He looked down at his hand suddenly when he realized that he couldn't move them. He rolled his eyes, remembering the strait jacket he was forced to wear during his daily "play time." He looked back up when he felt a sudden drop in the cushion on the window sill. There she sat; the girl who kept popping up in all _sorts_ of his dreams lately.

His lips curled up at the sight of her. "Fancy meeting you here. You know, I think you spend more time here than I do." The left side of Callie's mouth twitched up but she said nothing as she tilted her head to the side, slowly taking in his form with her eyes. The criminal's smile turned gleeful as he watched her eyes rake over him. "So what's a gal like you doin' in a place like this?" Callie smirked, leaning back against the window frame and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Lookin' for you handsome." Jack couldn't help himself. He burst into loud laughter at her continuing his use of cheesy 1940's nior film dialogue. Callie's smirk softened into a grin as she tucked a stocking covered leg under her butt to prop herself up. "But seriously?" The Joker nodded enthusiastically, wanting to hear more from the teenage girl in front of him. "I'm here to feel you out." The older man smirked.

"Sure I couldn't get you to feel me up instead?"

"Are you flirting?" Jack nodded, feigning seriousness.

"We "deranged psychopaths" flirt too ya know." Callie raised an eyebrow.

"Is that how you see yourself? A psychopath?" He smirked.

"You're your mother's daughter Dr. Jamison." Callie scrunched up her nose at the comparison to her mother.

"I was wondering how you see yourself." The Joker nodded, causing his whole body to rock as he did so.

"How about this?" He offered licking his lips. "What do _you_ think of me?" Callie frowned, looking away as though searching for an answer.

"You're an enigma, and you do it on purpose, but you're annoyed by it." The Joker raised an eyebrow, signaling for her to continue her story. "You're annoyed because you think you're so easy to figure out. But you don't realize that you're not. Psychologists from all over the world can't manage to understand you." He smirked.

"So you feel that I'm difficult?"

"I feel like you don't want things to be easy. You're opposed to easy, you dislike easy, and you're not _used_ to easy." Callie's eyes lingered pointedly on his scars. Jack laughed at her.

"And the scientist part of you came up with this hypothesis?" Callie nodded.

"And now the journalist part of me wants the facts straight from the source." He leaned into her, challenging her personal space as best as he could given his current fashion faux pax.

"Why?" Callie met his dare and leaned in towards him as well.

"Because I feel like the more I read about, the less I actually learn about you. I'm quickly learning to hate this feeling." Callie paused for a moment, mentally debating whether or not she wanted to vocalize her next thought. "You always look like you know something that we don't know. And I loathe being left out of a secret." The man in front of her smirked, shifting more in his seat now.

"Curiosity killed the cat you know." Callie nodded.

"Luckily I'm in no way feline." The Joker smirked.

"Well I wouldn't say that, after all you do have a pu—"

Callie cut him off with the roll of her eyes, "Shouldn't your jokes be funny?" His smile turned dangerous as he popped his arms out of their restraints on his back.

"No need to be rude Miss Jamison." The criminal's sudden escape sent a shock of fear down the petite girl's spine. Callie quickly shrugged it off, watching him carefully. Jack's grin widened when he freed his hands. He quickly reached out and played with a purposely frayed hole in Callie's dress.

"Cowboy boots? And an orange dress with red hair? And they think that I dress ridiculously." Callie's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"Hey I think I look good thank you very much!" She roughly batted his hand away from her dress. Callie couldn't see his anger until her head was brutally smacked against the window frame.

"Don't," he enunciated the word clearly, giving the shoulders that he had not let go of a violent shake. "Push me when I'm touching you." Callie had never felt more scared, or more excited, in her entire life.

Thirteen year old Jack Napier groaned in pain, gargling some of his own blood as he did so. He slowly pushed himself off the hardwood floor, staining his hands red in the process. Once standing, Jack held onto the kitchen sink, breathing heavily to keep from concentrating on the excruciating pain he felt. He raised his left hand slowly, feeling the grooves on his cheeks where his skin was no longer attached to itself. He moaned quietly to himself, feeling the horrible damage that had been done to his face.

It took all the strength he could muster for Jack to tilt his face up to look at his reflection in the window pane. He felt numb for a long moment as he studied his wounds. He merely stood at the sink, watching himself intently before letting out a deep chuckle. Jack's chuckle turned into disbelieving giggles as he continued to inspect himself closely. The more he saw, the more maniacal his laughter became, echoing into the black Gotham night before the pain over took him again. He fainted on the kitchen floor for the second time that night.

"Do you frequently base your deep psychological advice on Facebook Bumper Stickers?"


End file.
